


A Place in the Sun

by Severina



Category: Young Riders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-09-03
Updated: 2002-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:51:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy searches for peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Place in the Sun

Chapter One

“You sure about this, Jimmy?”

I’ve been sitting on the bottom rung of the fence, watching the horses in the corral. I swear, Destiny’s tryin’ to spark something with Lightning. He’s got that look in his eye. Beyond the horses, the plains stretch out like a ribbon, the sun glistenin’ on them like sparkling glass. There ain’t a lot to see if you’re facing Rock Creek, but with my back to the town everything feels different. The plains are always full of promise.

Since I announced my intention to leave, I’ve been expectin’ all these big confrontations. I’ve been braced for ‘em for over a week now. But everybody’s been real quiet. I don’t think they believe I’m goin’ to go through with it. So I’ve been waitin’ for the question, and I’m not at all surprised that’s it’s Buck that asks it.

“I’m sure.” I turn a little to face him, sorry to put the open plains at my back. “I’m gettin’ antsy,” I lie. “Besides, marshalin’s not for me. Better to leave that job to somebody better suited to the law.”

Buck glances down at the silver star pinned to his vest, then back up at me. “You know you gotta come visit us.”

His voice sounds so desperate and hopeful all at the same time. That’s when it hits me. This parting - me leaving Rock Creek for good - has probably hit Buck worse than anybody. Nah, no “probably” about it. Not that I imagine everybody I know is weepin’ and pinin’ in their beds. But Buck’s got no family… well, ‘less you count Red Bear, and it ain’t like he can invite his brother over to Sunday tea. And then Ike’s death… Noah… Cody… hell, even Jesse left. Now me. The guy must feel like he’s being deserted by everybody who loves him.

And I do. Love him, that is. Some men probably wouldn’t admit that. They’d figure it ain’t manly to admit that men got feelings. But we got ‘em. We might not trot ‘em out for the world to see a heck of a lot, but we got ‘em.

Still, I gotta be honest. I squint up at my friend and shrug. “I dunno, Buck. Guess I’ll have to see which way the wind blows me.”

It ain’t the answer he wants, but he grins anyway. “If it blows you back here, you know you always got a bunk.”

“Thanks, Buck.”

________________________________________

 

I’m dreading dinner tonight. It’s my last night in town, and I’m thinkin’ that it’s goin’ to be punctuated by awkward silences, and I’m long due for one of Teaspoon’s patented “talks”. They’re never lectures, they’re “talks”. I figure mine’ll include stuff about stayin’ on the right side of the law, not believin’ what people think about me, believin’ in myself.

But I’m pleasantly surprised. Most of the dinner conversation’s about rumours of Confederate troop movements down south, the installation of the new telegraph line in town, and who’s goin’ to be taking who to the box social next weekend. That last bit was from Rachel, of course. Buck looks mighty uncomfortable when talk turns to the new schoolteacher. I’ve seen her myself, and she’s quite the looker. Buck’s goin’ to have some competition, I think.

________________________________________

My last night in the bunkhouse.

Buck’s head hits the pillow and he’s out like a prizefighter after a ten round bout. Before long the room is filled with the sound of his soft snores. Normally I’d be tempted to grumble and chuck a pillow in his general direction, but tonight the sound is just soothing. Familiar. Kind o’ comforting.

Laying on my back, I cross my hands at the back of my head. I don’t even mind that sleep eludes me. The moon is shinin’, and the stars seem to be fightin’ each other to see which of ‘em can shimmer the longest and the brightest. Everything feels at peace, including me. And that’s comforting, too.

A particularly loud snore diverts my glance to Buck, then to all the cots lying empty in the room. It wasn’t so long ago that there were seven of us squashed into the bunkhouse. Now there was two. And tomorrow, there will be one. I have to fight back the sudden laugh that wants to spill out. ‘Cause tomorrow, this wouldn’t be the bunkhouse no more. Tomorrow, it’ll be the BUCKhouse.

Still grinning, I settle back onto my cot. BUCKhouse. Yeah, and Buck had big plans for the place too. He was goin’ to fix it up so it was suitable for a Deputy-Marshal. Maybe it’d even be proper for somebody who wanted to go sparkin’ with the new schoolteacher.

As if he can hear what I’m thinking, my friend starts mumblin’ in his sleep. Something about a redhead. Either that, or a red herring. I can’t really tell. All I know is that sleep is pullin’ at my eyes and I’m seeing two moons in the sky. I got a long day ahead of me tomorrow and I’m goin’ to need all the rest I can get. Turning on to my side, I scrunch the pillow beneath me and close my eyes.

I hope I don’t dream of fish.

 

Chapter Two

Sundancer stands patiently in her stall as I cinch the saddle firmly around her middle. I’ve never been one for saving, and truth be told ol’ Sundancer would’ve been too expensive for me to buy if Teaspoon hadn’t agreed to cut me a little deal. Like he said… what Russell, Majors and Waddell don’t know can’t hurt ‘em. Besides, me and Sundancer - we got a way of communicatin’ that she ain’t got with the other riders. It’s only fittin’ we stick together.

“Jimmy.”

My shoulders stiffen at the sound of her voice. I don’t want ‘em to, but they do just the same.

“I just came to say good-bye.”

I force myself to relax, letting the frustration seep out through the soles of my boots and into the fresh strewn hay. That’s somethin’ Teaspoon taught me, on one of my many visits to the sweat lodge. It’s all about focusing. Least that’s what Teaspoon says. Focusing, and imagining that my anger or frustration is a real thing. Somethin’ that I can just drop off, like my hat.

Sometimes it works; most times it doesn’t.

We already said our good-byes. She had a big dinner for everybody last Sunday. Kid even made a big speech about friendship, and how we hadn’t let our disagreements about the War separate us. Lou had tears in her eyes when he was done.

Now she was here, when it should be that everything we needed to say had already been said.

When I face her, I’ve got a smile on my face.

“Thanks Lou,” I say. She looks lovely. I gotta admit it, marriage agrees with her.

She crosses her arms at her chest and fidgets with the lace hanging from the sleeves. I’ve seen that pose before. Usually she’d tug at her vest, of course. But those vests and trousers are hangin’ in a closet somewhere now, and they only come out when she’s goin’ for a long ride. Anyway, she’s holding somethin’ back. And I just want to be outta here before she lets it out.

“You got everything packed up then?”

I glance back at Sundancer. Nobody could ever say she was over laden, but she’s carryin’ everything I need. I hadn’t accumulated much in over a year and a half. “All set,” I say, and then turn back to my horse. It’s not that I don’t appreciate Lou coming over. I do. I just want things to stay the way they are. We already said our good-byes. Yeah, I know I mentioned that before. But I didn’t want no big brouhaha just ‘cause I was ridin’ out.

When she speaks again, her voice is strained and tight. “Jimmy, you don’t have to do this!”

Facing her again, I forget all about that “seeping frustration” trick that Teaspoon taught me. “Do WHAT, Lou?”

“You don’t have to leave! Not if… if it’s because of ME…”

“This ain’t about you, Lou! Not everything is about YOU!” I spit back. Her face crumbles, and I immediately regret raisin’ my voice. But… it’s true. This ain’t about Lou. And it ain’t about Kid. I take some deep breaths, gettin’ myself under control again.

I loved her. No doubt about it. And there’s always goin’ to be a little piece of my heart that belongs to the girl that danced with me under the stars in Willow Springs. That’s a memory I ain’t ever goin’ to forget, and it’s tucked away nice and safe inside. But Kid’s my friend. And more than that, LOU’S my friend. Once I saw how things were goin’ to be between ‘em, I took that moment and put it aside to treasure, and I moved on.

“This ain’t about you, Lou,” I repeat, much quieter this time. “You and Kid are goin’ to be happy together. Anybody that sees the two of you together can see that. I just know that my destiny lies somewhere else. That kind of happiness ain’t for me.”

“Don’t say that, Jimmy!” Lou jumps in. “There’ll be someone for you… you’ll find someone…”

I can’t keep the dubious look from my face, and from the corresponding look on Lou’s face she doesn’t really believe it either. She might act tough - hell, she’s tougher that a ton of men I’ve known - but at heart, she's still a romantic. She wants to believe it. She wants to think that I’m goin’ to live Happily Ever After. Even though that’s never been the ending for a gunslinger before, she’ll keep on believin’ it.

Untying Sundancer’s reins, I let the comment slide. “I better get goin’. You take care of yourself, Lou.”

“I will,” she says softly as she accompanies me outside. I know she wants more. “Closure” is what they call it in those romance novels that Rachel reads. Yeah, I picked up a couple of ‘em when they were sittin’ on the porch swing. It ain’t manly to read romance novels? Well, it ain’t like I’m goin’ to admit it to anybody. But hey, a man’s got to practice his reading when he can, and there’s not exactly a ton of readin’ material at a way station.

But I already feel like I’ve got “closure”. I think Lou understands. She’s got Kid.

The sunlight is blinding after the restful dimness of the stables, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust… and to see that they’re ALL there. Teaspoon and Rachel. Buck. Kid. Even Tompkins. All standin’ around to see me off. And here I thought they were actually goin’ to let me leave without any fuss. My face must’ve betrayed my shock, ‘cause Teaspoon starts to laugh.

“You didn’t really think we was gonna let you sneak off like a chicken thief, did ya Jimmy?” he asks. I can only nod dumbly, even though a smile is snakin’ its way across my face. Well, I thought I wanted no fuss. Turns out, it feels kind o’ nice to think that they all cared enough about me to get up at the crack of dawn to see me off. Especially after we already had that nice dinner.

“I guess I shoulda known better, Teaspoon.” I grin and offer him my hand, but he draws me into a bear hug instead. His scent fills me, and I suddenly realize how much I associate the smells of Teaspoon with “home”. They’re not good smells, for the most part. Old leather, and gun oil. Sweat and prairie dust. And the ever-present scent of the onions he’s so fond of. But mixed all together, they were good smells to me. They represent safety.

And for a moment, just a moment, I don’t want to give that up. I want that safety. I crave it. I can picture myself sittin’ in Teaspoon’s office with my feet up on the desk, snoozin’ my way through another shift as Deputy-Marshal. Goin’ to that box social and maybe givin’ Buck a run for his money with the pretty redhead. Livin’ a life.

Then I remember. I ain’t just Jimmy Hickok. Oh, I am to my family here. To the people that love me. But to everybody else, I’m Wild Bill. And Wild Bill needs to move on.

I pat Teaspoon on the back before moving to my horse. The others gather round to offer well wishes and such, but to tell the truth I’m not really listenin’. I hear the happy voices and I answer accordingly, but I really just want to get out of Rock Creek before I lose my nerve.

I’m starting to swing up onto Sundancer’s back when Lou dances forward with a light shining in her eyes.

“Not so fast, Jimmy Hickok,” she grins up at me. “We all talked about it, and we want you to have this. To remember us by.”

She pulls her hand out from behind her back with a flourish, and I see what’s she’s been hidin’ from me. Tears start to well up in my eyes, though I blink ‘em back real fast so nobody can see.

It’s the sketch. It seems like just last week that we all sat for Ike while he tried out his latest talent on us guinea pigs. We were all dressed up in our Sunday best, tryin’ not to fidget while he worked diligently at the table. It ended up lookin’ so much like us that none of us could quite believe it.

It was the last sketch he ever made.

I look from one face to another, but they’re all smiling. Taking the paper gingerly from Lou’s outstretched hand, I look to Buck while I ask, “Are you sure?”

Buck’s easy smile is genuine. “He’s in my heart. You take that, Jimmy. So you’ve got a piece of us while you’re out on the trail.”

“So you never forget where your family is,” Kid put in.

“And all the people that love you,” Lou adds, taking Kid’s hand in her own.

Rachel pulls me into her arms. “And your home.”

Disentangling myself from the embrace, I roll up the sketch carefully and ease it into my saddlebag, then mount Sundancer quickly. A final good-bye and I’m off.

“Ride safe, son,” I hear Teaspoon call as I leave. “Ride safe.”

 

Chapter Three

I don’t know what I was expecting. Not this.

I knew there’d be changes. At least when Emma sold her land to Russell, Majors and Waddell, she knew that the company was goin’ to take care of the place. That’s one thing about the company - they knew we needed a reliable home station. Not that the riders from the other way stations had it as good as we did. They sure didn’t have such fine women around to take care of ‘em as Rachel and Emma. They each had very different ways of doin’ it, but they nurtured us in ways we didn’t even know we needed. Thinkin’ back to that first day… all of us lined up at the corral fence… well, I guess we were lucky Teaspoon didn’t give us more than a tongue-lashing.

Most of the express riders didn’t have it so lucky. Some of the station masters was just in it for the money, jobs bein’ hard to come by especially when a man’s gettin’ on in years. Some of ‘em just didn’t have the patience or temperament to deal with a bunch of rowdy, cocksure boys. Most of ‘em didn’t hire housemothers neither, but like I said, we got lucky.

Russell, Majors and Waddell closed down the Sweetwater station shortly after we all got transferred to Rock Creek. Me and Cody used to joke that it was ‘cause they couldn’t find any riders good enough to replace us. Leastways, I was jokin’. I ain’t too sure about Cody. But I guess we just figured that they’d make sure Emma’s place got sold to somebody who’d take care of it.

It’s pretty astounding that so much damage could occur in little more than six months.

I don’t know which is worse - the state of the house, or the windmill. I remember fightin’ to keep that windmill from topplin’ the night of the big storm. The night that Kid accused me an’ Lou of… well… he accused me of doin’ stuff I wouldn’t have done with Lou. Not with me knowin’ how her and Kid felt right about then. Now that same windmill is in pieces on the ground. It’s been there so long that the tumbleweed lying up against it looks to have taken root. But it wasn’t so long ago that it stood tall and proud.

The house is a shambles. The straight white wooden fence that once surrounded the property is gone. Well, not completely gone. Here and there a crooked board remains, protruding from the ground like a rotten tooth. What little garden Emma an’ Rachel had tried to cultivate in the dry dusty soil has long since returned to the earth. There’s still a portion of cracked glass in the upper window - the window that Sam installed a year ago - but the rest of the windows are open to the elements. Cracked boards line the walls; shutters are crooked or missing altogether. The entire place looks like it’s been abandoned for years.

But it’s not. The three - no, four - kids playin’ in the dirt attest to that.

The littlest one - a girl in a dress at least one size too small and lookin’ like it ain’t seen the inside of a wash basin in quite some time - gazes at me with big brown eyes before goin’ to hide behind her sister. Those eyes give me pause for a moment. It’s almost like seein’ Lou lookin’ at me; at least, Lou as I’d imagine her as a little kid. The other two girls look on with interest, but it’s the boy that steps forward.

“What’s yer name, mister?”

I ain’t able to keep the grin off my face. The kid’s standin’ up straight with a look of bravado in his eyes. He’s bound and determined to protect his sisters from the stranger on their property. The fact that his nose is runnin’ like a freight train only adds to the “cute” factor.

I ain’t normally one to take note of kids. Oh, I’ve been around ‘em enough. There’s been Jeremiah and Teresa, for example. After that first visit to the orphanage, Lou went back a ton more times. And most times, me or one o’ the other boys went with her. ‘Course, Teaspoon always came up with a reason why we’d have to go to St. Joe just at the exact same time that Lou was takin’ another leave of absence. Lou got kind o’ bristly the first couple o’ times, but after that I think she just resigned herself to the company.

And there was other kids too, passin’ through the express station at one time or another. But I just have half-remembered, blurry images of them in my head. They were there, and I can handle ‘em just fine, but once they were gone it ain’t like I spent a lot of time thinkin’ about ‘em.

There’s somethin’ about this kid though. Despite the run-down nature of the place, it’s all these kids have got, and this one little eight-year-old is goin’ to watch over it. I cross my hands at the pommel of my saddle and squint down at him.

“Name’s James. What’s yours?”

The eyes narrow, and two thin arms cross defiantly at his chest. While the Little-Lou is all big brown eyes and dark shaggy hair, Spunky here is so pale he’s almost ghostly. “Don’t matter none,” he answers. “This here’s our place, ya know. You ain’t s’posed to be here.”

My grin widens. Maybe there’s hope for Emma’s place after all. His parents sure don’t seem to care much for it, but Spunky’s got some pride. The kid’s eyes wander over the dilapidated buildings and I follow ‘em - Christ, I’m just noticin’ that the bunkhouse is nothin’ but a pile of tinder! Spunky’s eyes flicker with an odd mixture of love and dismay. Maybe when he grows up, he’ll see to it that the place is restored. Hell, I can hope.

“Well, that may be true,” I say, “but I used to live here. This used to be a way station for the Pony Express, an’ I was one of the riders.”

Spunky raises one colourless eyebrow in an eerie, if unknowing, imitation of a certain Kiowa. And that’s about all the reaction I get for riskin’ my life on endless mail runs. To say that Spunky is profoundly unimpressed is an understatement.

He glances back at his sisters before sendin’ out the zinger that practically knocks me outta my saddle.

“You ever kill anybody with them guns?”

I didn’t even notice him checkin’ them out. Spunky… and sly. The easy grin on my face falters a moment as I try to decide what to say. The kid looks so tiny in his torn overalls, liberally dusted with dirt and grime.

And I can’t help rememberin’ another little kid. Sometimes it seems like only yesterday that Ma brought me and my sisters into town. Other times, it seems like I’ve lived a dozen lifetimes since then.

We didn’t have money. It wasn’t that we sometimes didn’t have money, or even that we usually didn’t have money. We just NEVER had money. End of story, that’s all she wrote. Pa worked, but Ma struggled to make ends meet just the same, especially with a bunch of youngsters to raise. I found out later that practically every cent Pa earned went to the Cause. I resented it then, and truth be told, I still resent it now. Not that I needed that one thing to resent my Pa. The first time he raised his hand to Ma…

She took us into town one day soon after that. One side of her face was still puffy and sore, the dark purple bruise startin’ to fade to a sickly yellow. I was supposed to keep an eye on Celinda and Lydia. Celinda got all huffy, as usual, complainin’ loudly and emphatically to everybody within earshot that SHE was the oldest and could take care of herself just fine. She was in the middle of a particularly earsplitting declaration about bein’ babied, but one look from Ma was all it took to shut her up. By the time we got to the Mercantile, Celinda was more interested in lookin’ in the big glass jars of candies in the window, pointin’ out the ones she wished we could buy. Lydia? Heck, Lydia was just a baby, still wipin’ her nose on Ma’s skirts. I ended up wanderin’ off. That’s how I happened to be in front of the saloon when it happened.

I never did find out what started it. Who was ever goin’ to give a reason to a nine-year-old kid? All I know was that the saloon doors suddenly crashed open, sendin’ a mammoth trapper of a man careening in to the street. The man that followed him out was tall and lean, with sallow skin and long hair the colour of three-day-old straw. His pale grey eyes flicked over the crowd that was gatherin’, meeting mine briefly before movin’ on. I remember feelin’ a blast of frosted air sweepin’ around me. The hair’s risin’ on my arms and the back of my neck just thinkin’ about it.

Words were exchanged before the two men faced off in the middle of the crowded street. Ma showed up and tried to pull me away - Lydia was cryin’ and Celinda was turnin’ this brilliant shade of scarlet ‘cause she wasn’t gettin’ her way about somethin’ - but I didn’t seem to hear nothin’ but the sound of pistol clearing leather as the pale man drew his gun from his holster.

The sound of the gunshot shattered the bubble of silence that I was existing in, and sound came back with such a rush that I felt deafened. The trapper clutched his chest and fell. He’d never even had the chance to draw his own weapon. And Ma had tried to pull me away, but I saw it all.

The only thing that I remember goin’ through my mind at that moment was an image of my Pa’s face. The way it had twisted into somethin’ menacing and unfamiliar when he’d been beatin’ on Ma. And the way he’d smashed his open hand into my face and pushed me away when I tried to help her. Then my mind’s eye turned to the blank colourless eyes of the gunslinger, and I shivered. Nobody’d ever beat somebody he loved. Nobody. Nobody’d ever dare.

With an effort, I force the memories back to where they belong and try to concentrate on Spunky. He’s taken a tentative step forward, gawkin’ at my Colt. He’s lookin’ at it with too much interest. Still, I ain’t goin’ to lie to the kid. There’s too much lyin’ that goes on to kids. They ain’t stupid. They know when you’re not tellin’ ‘em the whole truth. I just got to make it clear that nothin’ gets solved by turnin’ to the gun. That’s all.

So I make sure to look Spunky straight in the eye. “Yes. I’ve killed people. But it ain’t the way it seems. You’re goin’ to come across a lot of problems in your life, and sometimes it seems like goin’ for the gun will make those problems go away. Well, it won’t. Most times it just makes more problems.”

I lean back in the saddle, feelin’ pretty proud of myself. Sure, it was short as speeches go, and it certainly wasn’t Teaspoon-worthy. But I think I made my point pretty clear.

“When I’m older I’m gonna get me some guns and I’m gonna kill anybody who gets in my way!”

“Look kid, that ain’t the way it IS. You gotta--”

“I’m gonna take care of everybody. You can’t stop me! And if’n you come back here, I’ll take care of YOU too!”

Stomach twisting at the rage comin’ in hot waves from such a frail and tiny body, I force myself not to respond any further. The anger that’s rousing Spunky is stronger than I know how to deal with. Besides, he ain’t goin’ to listen to no driftin’ gunfighter like me. I ain’t got any right to lecture about livin’ by the gun when that’s just what I do. I just got to hope that the kid finds somebody like Teaspoon to set him straight.

I turn my horse away from the dilapidated ruins of Emma’s once-beautiful property. Sundancer’s a smart horse. She automatically turns her head towards Sweetwater and paws the dry ground eagerly. Yup, she remembers the way. I’m eager for a hot meal and a bed that don’t consist of the cold earth and my saddle for a pillow. But the thought of seein’ what changes the past six months have brought to Sweetwater is enough to send another wave of nausea rollin’ across my middle. If I ride hard and fast, I’ll be able to make it to Preston by supper. And if I don’t - well, another night under the stars ain’t so bad.

Without a backward glance, I spur Sundancer toward the plains. I know I’ll never go back.

 

Chapter Four

There’s times when me and Sundancer are so in sync, I could swear we was almost one being. The ride to Preston is one of them times. Not only do I get there in time for supper, but I’m early enough to check into the hotel and get in a nice steamin’ bath before dinner. I’m feelin’ considerably refreshed by the time I take my seat in the hotel dining room.

It’s a nice place. For one thing, it’s an actual dining room, not just a few dirty tables set down in the middle of a raucous saloon. Oh, there is a saloon too - no hotel in the territory coulda survived without one. Most of their business comes from the saloon, and the ladies of the evening that ply their trade among its tables of drunken men. But the Preston Hotel makes sure that the saloon patrons and the restaurant patrons are kept separate. Makes it a little more classy.

There are linen cloths on the tables - plain, but clean. A couple of ‘em are even topped with vases of fresh flowers. Their sweet scent fills the room, almost rivaling the robust smells of roast pork and sizzlin’ steak that drifts from the kitchen. The combination of odors makes my stomach turn cartwheels with hunger. Been eatin’ dried jerky and hardtack so long, I’ve almost forgotten what real food tastes like.

“Welcome to the Preston Hotel, sir!”

The animated voice jerks me up from my reverie. I find myself starin’ into the bright blue eyes of a curvy waitress with a dazzlin’ smile.

“My name is Isabelle and I’ll be takin’ care of you tonight,” the woman continues brightly. “Now you take your time lookin’ over our menu. In the meantime, can I get you a drink?”

I take the proffered menu numbly, havin’ to force myself not to squint from the glare of those pearly teeth. Who knew it was even possible to GET teeth that white? I’m sure Isabelle must be Dr. Luckett’s dream woman.

She’s still standin’ there, head cocked to one side, and I realize she’d waitin’ on my answer. Her grin hasn’t faltered, and her eyes still twinkle. By her accent I’d say she’s from the south… maybe even Virginia. This must be what they mean by “southern hospitality”. I didn’t ever see Kid act quite so chirpy though.

A drink. Do I want a drink? It’s kind o’ hard to concentrate with her watchin’ me so eagerly. Them eyes are just a little TOO bright. I feel like an earthworm that’s just been spotted by a raven. Clearin’ my throat, I manage to croak out, “Nothin’ right now, thanks.” I’m sure my attempt at an answerin’ smile looks a wee bit sickly, but I can’t help it. She’s a little intimidating.

As Isabelle makes her way through the knot of tables to the kitchen, I turn my attention to the menu. Then I try to stop my eyes from poppin’ out of my skull. Now I know I ain’t exactly well-traveled, but I’ve never seen these kind o’ choices on a restaurant menu before. There’s got to be over a dozen “appetizers” alone. Since all these “appetizers” seem to be about bullet-sized, I figure they must be the food you eat to make your stomach understand it’s actually hungry. My stomach’s rumblin’ enough; I plan on skippin’ the appetizers.

Eyes rovin’ over the “main courses”, I decide to ignore the voice that tells me I oughtta be savin’ my money. That little voice has been naggin’ me ever since I left Rock Creek, and I’m gettin’ sick of it. That little voice is the reason I been eatin’ hardtack. That little voice is the reason I been sleepin’ with only the night sky for a blanket. Tonight, that little voice is gettin’ gagged.

In fact, I think I might just try somethin’ different. My eyes light on an unfamiliar word. Quessadilla. My lips form the syllables, tryin’ it on for size. “Kwes-sah-dill-ah”, I mumble under my breath. Nah. Better not order somethin’ I ain’t even sure how to say. I’ll stick with somethin’ basic. Steak and potatoes, with lots of fresh bread. My mouth’s waterin’ at the very thought.

“Ready to order, sir?”

Perfect timing. I just about can’t wait to sink my teeth into a tender, juicy steak. My appetite’s enough to rival Cody tonight. I grin widely at Isabelle and say loudly, “Cheese sandwich and sarsaparilla, please.”

What? My mouth opens and closes a couple o’ times, as my brain tries to figure out what my mouth just did. Old habits die hard, I guess.

I would’ve thought nothin’ could knock the eager-to-please look from Isabelle’s face, but as it turns out my rather unorthodox request has certainly given her pause. The grin on her face falters just a bit as she looks up quickly from the paper in her hand.

“Ummm… yes… yes sir,” she mumbles back, unable to keep the confused look from her face. More than confused. She’s lookin’ at me like I’m some sort of circus freak. Well, maybe that’s harsh. But the thought gets me smirkin’. Yup, that’s me. Jimmy The Cheese Freak. Is this what Sam meant when he said I had a cheese-eatin’ grin?

Forcin’ back the laughter I can feel bubblin’ up inside, I grab hold of Isabelle’s arm before she can leave the table. The smile that I give her ain’t forced no more. “I’m sorry,” I say, “I’d like to change my order.”

As I discard the cheese sandwich and put steak, potatoes, peas and bread in its place, her familiar grin resurfaces. Ah yes, things are back in order in Isabelle’s world.

“And to drink, sir?”

“Sarsaparilla.” Yeah, I can order beer or whiskey now that I ain’t bound by the express rules no more. But I don’t see no need to start down that path. I’ve seen too many men ruined by it.

________________________________________

 

“Thank you, Isabelle.”

The new dish she sets in front of me look awfully tempting. A slice of pie, so overfilled with apples that they look to be tryin’ to escape from the crust. I’m about ready to dig in with relish; might even have seconds.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Hickok,” she answers pleasantly. “It’s always nice to see a man with a hearty appetite.”

She walks off in a swish of skirts, and I’m just savoring both the first taste of the pie and the way her hips swivel when she walks when a new voice threatens to take all the joy out o’ the evening.

“Hickok? James Hickok.”

My shoulders tense, my back stiffens, and no matter how hard I concentrate on those deep breathin’ exercises that Teaspoon taught me, I’m still aware that my right hand is clenchin’ the fork so tight that my knuckles are turnin’ white. My left hand? It wants to inch across to the Colt at my side so bad that it’s practically shakin’.

Once I’m pretty sure that I ain’t goin’ to launch myself out of the fancy padded chair and into a brawl, I manage to raise my eyes to the cause of the interruption in my meal.

“Marcus.” My voice sounds like sandpaper mixed with broken glass.

JD Marcus - pseudo-intellectual, essayist, novelist, and architect of my life’s destruction - grins hugely as he pulls out a chair and makes himself comfortable at my table. I don’t even try to hide my grimace, though it’s a shock that the mere sight of him hasn’t blinded me. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the man’s become more of a popinjay than ever. His overcoat - heck, I ain’t even sure that you’d call a garment of brocade red velvet an overcoat! The rest of him is almost as bad. The gold buttons on his suit jacket are reflectin’ off the candlelight so much my eyes are waterin’. And he’s got enough goop in his hair to make the flowers wilt.

“Bit far from home, aren’t you, Mr. Hickok? Aaaah, but of course the little Express is no more, is it? You’ll have to find another ‘worthy’ endeavour to occupy your time and rather unbridled energy.” He steeples his hands and regards me thoughtfully, rather like a snake with a plump and juicy mouse in his sights. “Undoubtedly there are many staggering prospects awaiting you in this new and exciting world. Why, with your qualifications, Hickok, you could be well on your way to a fulfilling career as a stableboy.”

I try to picture the negative energy seepin’ down through my body and out my boot heels, but it isn’t workin’. It all seems to be comin’ out my ears instead. And my left hand is still creepin’ to the holster despite my best intentions.

“What do you want, Marcus?” All right, I impress myself there. The grit and gravel in my voice is gone. I sound calm, even civil. I guess those lessons o’ Teaspoon’s are payin’ off after all.

“I’m delighted that you asked, Hickok,” he answers. “Because when I saw you sitting there, it became clear to me that providence had placed you in my path. In brief-”

“You don’t know how to be brief,” I mutter under my breath.

He gives me a withering stare before continuing, “In brief, Mr. Hickok, I am here to offer you a golden opportunity. A job.”

One moment I’m listenin’ with a skeptical ear. The next moment, I’m laughin’ so hard I can’t catch my breath. And just when I start to get myself under control, I sneak a glimpse of the mortified expression on Marcus’ face and the laughter comes even harder. Wavin’ away a concerned Isabelle, I manage to choke out, “Marcus, I wouldn’t work for you if you were the last HONEST man on Earth.”

Marcus leans back, frowning. A job - with HIM! Shakin’ my head and still grinnin’, I wonder what the boys back in Rock Creek would think of that. I dig into my dessert with renewed vigor, only noticin’ when it’s polished off that Marcus still hadn’t moved a muscle.

Oh, he looks hurt and cross and ill-tempered, and I ain’t denyin’ that I got a good deal of satisfaction knowin’ I’d wiped that smug, sneering look off his face. But I’ve always prided myself on bein’ able to read people, Lou’s identity notwithstanding. And underneath that pompous attitude and overbearing demeanor, I can see that Marcus is scared. Petrified, even.

Boltin’ up the stairs to my room is suddenly very appealing. What do I care if JD Marcus is scared? The man’s book ruined my life! “The Legend of Wild Bill Hickok”, my horse’s rump! I ain’t got a moments peace since that dime-novel was published, and it’s all his fault.

But… well…. I guess I gotta admit that a part of me was hankerin’ for that attention. I’d spent my life groomin’ for it under The Judge, and then again after I’d left his company. I was proud of my prowess with the gun. Still am, but it’s a different kind of proud. It’s got nothin’ to do with bein’ the best or the fastest anymore. It’s more to do with… heck, I don’t know. Character analysis ain’t my strong suit. Kid was always better at that kind o’ stuff. I’m just sayin’ that I wasn’t entirely blameless for the Marcus situation. I shouldn’t have been showboatin’ in the saloon that day to begin with. And at another day, at another time, I might even have enjoyed the notoriety that book gave me. I might have turned out to be a much different man.

I gesture to the lovely Isabelle for another sarsaparilla before puttin’ my elbows on the table and fixin’ Marcus with a steady look. I know I’m goin’ to hate myself for askin’, but…

“What’s this all about, Marcus?” I hold up my hand to forestall his first answer, which will just be full of big words and half-lies anyway. “And leave the dictionary at home. Just tell me what’s goin’ on.”

For a moment he looks like he’s goin’ to launch into a big speech again. He opens his mouth and I get ready for it. But then he just deflates, like a balloon. His eyes are hooded and dark, and for the first time I see that the worry lines in his face have gotten deeper and more pronounced since our last meetin’. When he finally answers, it’s without his usual pomp and circumstance. He sounds like a child.

“I’m being hunted, Hickok.”

My face must betray my incredulity. “Hunted?”

He barks out a bitter laugh. “I guess I should consider it my just desserts. After all the bile I’ve put on paper just to make a few bucks and see my name on the front cover. Do you know that I’m the highest paid author in True West’s stable?”

His mouth twists into an acidic grin. “Oh yes, it’s true. My books are their biggest sellers. And why? I tell the best tales. It never really mattered to me whether they were all true or not.”

I was interested in spite of myself. “So what’s changed?” I didn’t mean about the book sales, of course. Every mercantile and general store still stocks the latest JD Marcus novels. There’s no reason for me to think he’s not tellin’ the truth.

Marcus waves at Isabelle and asks for a whiskey, which he downs in one quick swallow before requestin’ another. Only when it’s been placed in front of him does he lean forward, eyes warily scanning the room before replying. “It’s Caulder,” he says conspiratorially. “He visited me before… before I came to visit you last time. You might know that.”

Oh yes, I knew that. I knew that Marcus had sped to Sweetwater to warn me that Caulder was gunnin’ for me. I knew that the only reason he did it was so that he could have a first-hand view of the slaughter. I knew that Kid was beaten to within an inch of his life because he wouldn’t tell Caulder where I was. I knew that afterward, Teaspoon, Buck and the others had warned Marcus never to write about “Wild Bill” again, unless it was to give him a nice retirement. Yes, I was very clear about all of it. Some things you just don’t forget.

“He said that once he was done with you, he’d be back to take care of me,” Marcus continues. “That’s what he said: ‘take care of me’. Doesn’t sound all that threatening, does it? It only sounds threatening when you hear the way he says it. I could write paragraphs just describing that man’s voice.”

Another cold smile. “Except that YOU took care of HIM. So my worries are over, right? No. He’s healed. He’s healed, Hickok, and he’s back. And he’s after me.”

Leaning back in my chair, I ponder this little tidbit. Caulder, healed and headin’ West. I know Sam told me that I should shoot to kill. I just didn’t have the stomach for it. Not then. Not over a badly-written chapter in a crummy book.

Should I be scared? Worried? Anxious? I don’t know. I don’t feel any o’ those things. If Caulder shows up, I know I’ll have to deal with him, one way or the other. But I just can’t seem to get worked up about it. Maybe it goes back to that pride thing - the pride in my skill with the gun that ain’t got nothin’ to do with bein’ the fastest. Maybe it’s just self confidence. Maybe it’ll get me killed someday. I don’t know. But I ain’t bothered none by this bit of news.

“So what are you goin’ to do?”

“I’m leaving the country. A ship sails from New York in six weeks, and I’m going to be on it. Until then, I’m staying at the best hotel that money can buy, and I’m hiring a bodyguard. Nobody knows where I’m going - not my publisher, not my editor, not even my mother! I’m vanishing off the face of the Earth, Hickok.” Suddenly seeming to realize that the world doesn’t revolve around him, he studies me for a moment before adding, “Maybe you should do the same.”

I wave off his belated concern, my eyes flicking to the hand he’s placed on my arm as he leans across the table. “I honestly… no, when do I ever do things honestly? I just thought that, if you wanted to, you could work for me. I’m a rich man, Hickok, I could make it worth your while. You can handle Caulder. You could be my bodyguard until the ship sails!”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Marcus, but I ain’t in the market for a job right now,” I lie. Even knowin’ that he’s got a legitimate cause for concern, it still ain’t enough to make me work for JD Marcus. Besides, I’m tryin’ to make a new life for myself, and I don’t want to start it off by gettin’ a reputation for killin’ people. Well, any MORE people.

“I can give you some advice, though, and that won’t cost you nothin’. You want to avoid Caulder, you keep a low profile. Dressin’ more like a store clerk and less like a peacock might be a good first step.”

He looks offended for a moment, and then a genuine smile makes its slow way across his face. Tossin’ back the rest of his whiskey, he drops a few coins on the table before tipping his hat to me in a goodwill-type gesture. He takes a few steps away, and my mind’s already turnin’ away from our conversation. My stomach’s still rumblin’ and I’m pretty sure Isabelle wouldn’t mind fetchin’ me a second piece of apple pie. So I’m a little annoyed when he steps back, draws a small card out of his pocket, and scribbles somethin’ on the back.

“Hickok,” he says, wearing the same expression that I’ve seen on men who’ve been gut-shot, “I know I didn’t do right by you either. For that, I’m sorry. If I can do anything for you before I leave, just let me know.”

He releases the card, which flutters lazily down to the table and lands next to my half-empty bottle of sarsaparilla. The name and address of a New York hotel is written on it.

I ain’t sure what I’m goin’ to say when I look up from the table. “Thank you” or “I don’t need this” or “What kind of game are you playing at?” All of them things are likely possibilities to come out of my mouth. It just seems like I should say somethin’. ‘Cause I can hear the sincerity in his voice, and it’d be kind o’ rude just to ignore it.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. When I do look up, he’s already gone.

 

Chapter Five

After Preston, it was Mills Falls. Then Rockton. Then it was a strange little place called Perfection.

I’m now in a one horse town with the fancy-soundin’ name of Ancaster Heights. I can see how it’d be easy for all the towns to start blendin’ together in a man’s head. ‘Specially if the man was the drinkin’ type. I still ain’t had nothin’ stronger than sarsaparilla, and that’s the way I intend to keep it. I need a clear head more than ever these days, since I started earnin’ my money at the poker tables.

I know what you’re thinkin’. But I ain’t about to become of them jack-a-dandy’s with the slick clothes and the slick hair and the even slicker attitude. I can see more for my future than endless nights in smoky saloons, tryin’ not to gag at the overwhelming smell of cheap whiskey, flowery perfume and unwashed bodies.

I got bigger goals in life than that. I just ain’t figured out quite what they are yet.

But a man can make a good chunk o’ money at the tables. The time I spent watchin’ others win and lose back in Sweetwater has done me in good stead. And I got a poker face like nobody’s business. So I’ve been sittin’ in on the games in every town I come to.

The money? I’ve been spendin’ only what I need to. My room at a respectable hotel, and meals in the saloon. Oh, I’ve splashed out once or twice like I did in Preston, and treated myself to a decent meal in a real restaurant. But most of the money is socked away, for that future goal that I ain’t decided on yet. It’s adding up quicker than I could’ve imagined.

I’ve had my fill of Ancaster Heights, though. I’m discovering that it don’t take long for me to sour on each new town. It ain’t that there’s anything wrong with the towns themselves. It’s more that the longer I stay, the more I become “Wild Bill” in the eyes of the people that live there. It’s almost like I ain’t a person at all. I’m just an image, a symbol of the big bad gunslinger. And the more I feel ‘em lookin’ at me like that, the more I start believin’ it myself.

So now I’m standin’ at the front desk of the hotel, waitin’ for the clerk to finish up with a squirrelly lookin’ fella with wiry hair and the biggest front teeth I ever seen. I don’t mind waitin’ - I’m generally a patient person - but every time the door opens behind me, it sends a blast of crisp autumn air into the foyer. After about the fourth or fifth time, my spine is feelin’ less like a spine and more like an icicle.

“Sorry for the delay,” the harried clerk finally snaps as Squirrel Man steps out of the way. I hand the clerk my key just as the door opens behind for what is gratefully the last time.

“Thank you for stayin’ at the Ancaster Heights Royal Vista Hotel, Mr. Hickok,“ the clerk recites in a bored monotone. It’s all I can do not to laugh in his face. As it is, I can’t hold back the snort. It’s kind of embarrassing, that snort. But Lord, the “Royal Vista”! The old Sweetwater hotel is classier than this joint, and served better food to boot.

“Hickok?” a voice behind me squeaks out, and my frozen back stiffens slightly until recognition kicks in. I got a big smile on my face as I turn and face the door.

“Well, butter my buns and call me a biscuit!” William F. Cody yells out, closing the distance between us in two wide strides and crushing me into a massive bear hug. “Hickok! What the heck are you doin’ out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“Just passin’ through,” I answer when I can breathe again.

Cody hasn’t changed a bit since the last time I saw him. All right, it ain’t been all that long, but there’s been so many changes in my life that it feels like Cody should’ve changed too. He’s still got the same long straw-coloured hair; not even the Army could make him cut it. And on account of bein’ a scout, he don’t have to wear a uniform. So he’s still wearin’ his fringed buckskin jacket. Matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without that jacket! His blue eyes are sparklin’ with happiness at seein’ me again.

That’s all right. I can’t seem to wipe the huge grin off my face either. I never realized how much I missed him. How much I miss all of ‘em.

It’s hard - harder than I ever thought it’d be. Leavin’ my old life behind, I mean. ‘Cause great as it is to see Cody again, he’s part of the life of “Jimmy Hickok”. He ain’t got nothin’ to do with James and he surely don’t got nothin’ to do with “Wild Bill”.

My eyes flick to his companions, hovering at the entranceway and watching the reunion with smiles on their faces. I ain’t seen so much army blue gathered in one place since me and Emma paid that visit to Fort Reunion.

“Still scoutin’, Cody?” I ask rhetorically.

Cody wouldn’t know a rhetorical question if it bit him in the butt.

“Best decision I ever made,” Cody confirms. Then he gets that look in his eye. You know that look. That “I got a brilliant idea and I should get a medal for thinking of something this spectacular” look. Cody always tended to get that look pretty frequently. And I guess that’s another thing that hasn’t changed. Probably never will.

“Cody, whatever you’re thinkin’ of-”

He holds up a hand to shush me, turning instead to his army cohorts. “Corporal,” he calls out, “I got an idea involvin’ that ‘situation’ we were talkin’ about earlier.”

“Cody…” I try again.

“Quiet a minute, Hickok, and let a man think!”

I’d chuckle if that look didn’t have me so worried.

“This here’s my good friend Jimmy Hickok,” he introduces me to the Corporal who has stepped forward to join us. “Me and Jimmy used to ride in the Express together. I think I might’ve told you about him.”

The Corporal grins, the action transforming a stern countenance into somethin’ almost boyish. I realize with a start that the man ain’t that much older than me and Cody. He’s got ten years on us at most, but that’s only obvious when he smiles. It almost seems like his freckles get brighter. Get the man really happy, and they probably glow in the dark.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hickok,” the Corporal says, offering me his hand. If he knows about “Wild Bill” or my reputation, he gives no sign. “Mr. Cody has regaled us with many numerous stories of your exploits.”

I can only imagine what tall tales Cody’s been spreadin’ about us. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Corporal.”

“Don’t worry, Hickok,” Cody butts in, “I only told ‘em the good stuff. Stuff that could help us right about now.”

I give Cody a withering stare. “Cody, your ideas usually end up gettin’ me shot at.”

The Corporal takes one look at Cody’s artfully hurt expression and starts to laugh. “Well, Mr. Hickok,” he says, “I’ve come to admire Mr. Cody’s ingenuity. Why don’t the two of you accompany me back to base and we’ll discuss this little inspiration he’s come up with?”

I must look dubious, ‘cause Cody launches into a string of reasons why I should change whatever plans I have and ride with them to their camp outside of town. Finally I relent, if only to shut Cody up for awhile.  
________________________________________  
I’m scoutin’ for the army.

I ain’t quite sure how this came about. One moment Cody, me, and the Corporal were just talkin’ about the problems the army’s been havin’ lately with a bunch of slavers across the territory line. I was actually a bit impressed that he was lettin’ me in on that kind of intelligence. All the other soldiers I ever met gave new meaning to the term “closed-mouthed”, particularly the ones in charge. But the Corporal wasn’t like that. Oh, he was careful not to mention no names, but he still showed a lot of confidence in me early on. Thinkin’ on it now, I reckon he must’ve known I’d end up signin’ on.

Not that I’ve officially joined the army. I’m just helpin’ with this particular situation. I figure, what the heck? They’re payin’ me, though of course it ain’t near as much as I could earn at the poker tables. But it’s honest work, and maybe I can do some good at the same time.

So like I said, one moment we were talkin’. I was able to give the Corporal and his officers a smattering of information on how the abolitionist cells are set up. They were pleased about that. The talkin’ went on for quite some time, and truth be told I’ve never been one for endless jawin’. Seems like there’s too much talkin’ and not enough action in this world sometimes. I don’t mind if I’m goin’ to get somethin’ decent out of it, like with Teaspoon. But frankly, even listenin’ to Teaspoon took a lot of patience on my part. If I never see the inside of a sweat lodge again, it’ll be too soon.

Somehow in all that gabbin’, I agreed to this scoutin’ expedition. Me and Cody leave tomorrow morning.

 

Chapter Six

The bullet whizzes past my head to embed itself in the tree trunk behind me. Ducking is as instinctual as breathin’, but I still got time to shoot Cody a glare that’d stop a charging buffalo in his tracks. My best, the practically patented glare of death. It slides off him like butter on warm bread. I ain’t surprised. This is Cody we’re talkin’ about.

He’s grinnin’. We’re pinned down by a cartload of liquored-up redneck slavers, and the danged fool is grinnin’ like he just won the turkey at the Christmas social. Long as I live, I ain’t never goin’ to understand how that boy’s head works.

I bend my head to my Colt, reloadin’ easily and ignorin’ the sounds of battle goin’ on around me. ‘Cause that’s just what it is - a full-fledged battle. Now I know I sort of joined up for this army thing, but heck, I’m supposed to be a scout. If I’d wanted to have got involved in somethin’ like this, I’d have enlisted. I didn’t, ‘cause William Alonzo Hickok didn’t raise no fool. Actually, now that I think of it, William probably did raise a fool. But Teaspoon Hunter corrected them mistakes long ago. Too bad his lessons didn’t stick with Cody. And too bad I didn’t learn not to listen to Cody when his mouth starts flappin’.

I ain’t even sure how we got to this point. It was supposed to be a simple mission. Talk to some of my abolitionist contacts, slip across the border to confirm their information on the slavers, then slip back out and report to the Corporal. See what I mean? I had more difficult assignments when I was with the Express. Workin’ at the Wild Horse with Grace Rawlings comes to mind. Not that I cared so much. There were the fringe benefits after all, and I did do a mighty fine job of undercover work, if I do say so myself. Compared to sneakin’ around the saloon, lyin’ to my friends, and endin’ up havin’ to shoot myself in the arm, this should have been a piece of cake!

You know what they say about best-laid plans. We never figured on Ned Randall bein’ a traitor to the cause.

I glance across the clearing to where Ned’s body lays face-down in the dirt. I don’t know who put a bullet in him, and I wouldn’t say I’m glad he’s dead. But I ain’t broke up about it neither. Somebody like that - well, out here, you can lose a lot. Your money, your home, heck, even your pride. But a man’s word… it’s about the most important thing he’s got. Lose that, and you might as well just bite your own bullet. In Ned’s case, somebody else took care of that for him.

I take another quick look at Cody, but now he’s all business. He fires a rapid shot, and the yelp of pain from behind the distant copse of trees is clearly audible.

He grins again. “Bullseye.”

“Dang it Cody, we can’t hold ‘em off forever!” I don’t mean to yell, but his attitude’s just startin’ to tick me off. He might have a death wish, but I sure as heck don’t want to go down with him.

“Says you,” he retorts before firing off another round. He squints up into the glare of the sun, tryin’ to keep one eye on me and the other on the renegades. “What’s the matter, Hickok? You chicken?”

My fingers spasm inside my glove, itchin’ to reach out and grab those fancy fringes and shake. I know if I had a mirror handy I’d see that my eyes had gone hard and cold. It happens more and more often these days. That worries me. The way that my mind can just shut down. No emotions, no feelings, no thoughts. Just a cold pit in my stomach and dead eyes. A detachment that’s terrifying.

But this is Cody, and I ain’t about to kill him just ‘cause he ain’t got the brains that God gave a chipmunk.

“Cody,” I grate out, “if we get out of this mess, you’re goin’ to pay for sayin’ that.”

He just scowls, ignorin’ the bullet that thumps into the ground a couple of feet in front of the boulder. You’d almost think we was havin’ the conversation in the bunkhouse instead of in the middle of gun fight.

“Well geez Louise, Hickok, what the heck’s the matter with you? You got a high society ball to be at or somethin’?”

Catchin’ sight of two of the slavers tryin’ to edge their way along the gully, I take quick aim. My shot knocks out one of ‘em, while Cody’s takes the second. A quick volley ensures that none of the others get any fancy ideas, but it’s just like I said. We aren’t goin’ to be able to hold ‘em off all day. I’m already runnin’ low on ammunition.

“Believe it or not,” I mutter as I dig into my pocket for the rest of my bullets, “I got plans for my life. Plans that don’t include endin’ up in a pine box before I’m twenty.”

Cody snorts, obviously havin’ no idea how close he is to a pummelin’ that he’d remember for the rest of his days.

“Really. Well, we got some time. Why don’t you fill me in your grand plans? You’re goin’ to have a life of leisure, I’m sure.”

Does a flush come into my cheeks? Well, if it does, I can blame it on the sun that’s beatin’ down so hot and fierce it stings. Grand plans, my hind end. At this point, stayin’ alive sounds like a mighty fine plan and it’s just about the only one I need at the moment.

“I ain’t a soldier, Cody. This ain’t my war.”

“And that ain’t an answer.” He’s about to say more, but then a gleam comes into his eye and he cuffs me good-naturedly on the shoulder instead. With a smile splittin’ his face from ear to ear, he nudges me. I turn my head just as the regiment crests the hill. Reinforcements.

“Well Hickok, guess you’re goin’ to live after all.”

“Keep it up, Cody, and you ain’t.”  
________________________________________

The rain has lessened to a light drizzle, but a bitter wind still gusts through the narrow streets of Roxborough. It trickles down my back with fingers of ice, promptin’ me to tug my collar a little tighter at my neck. Large standing puddles still dot the landscape, and mud squishes around my boots as I come to a stop outside the saloon.

The raucous rattle of the piano seeps out the batwing doors, the music muted enough to almost be tolerable. Almost, if you don’t pay too much attention. It’s just background noise to me anyway. I’ve got other things on my mind.

Ignorin’ the rain that drips from the brim of my hat, I stare at the place where it happened. It’s only a patch of sodden dirt to anybody else who passes by, not that anybody else IS passin’ by on a night like this. But I can see more than the rain-soaked earth. I can still see the blood.

I didn’t want to kill him.

I tuck my hands in my pockets and gaze at the ground, the scarlet of his blood washed away by the rain but still clear in my eyes.

He had been young. Not younger than me, but young enough. His hand had been steady; there’d been no drinkin’ at the saloon to get his nerve up for this one. And he had only goal in his mind: to kill Wild Bill. To kill me.

He never said why. That’s what pulls at me. He never said I’d killed one of his gang, or a friend, or his brother’s best friend’s dog. He never said I hurt him in any way at all. He just wanted to kill me. For the notoriety. For the press. Hell, maybe for the thrill. I don’t know.

I didn’t want to kill him. But I didn’t have much of a choice once he called me out. I tried talkin’ first, like I always do. And talkin’ didn’t work, like it never does. So I put aside my cards and joined him on the street. And I killed him… like I always do.

I turn my head up to the sun, which is still strugglin’ to pop out from behind the storm clouds. I could use some of that light. But the sun can’t seem to get through, and I know there ain’t nothin’ left for me now.

When I left the Express, I thought I’d accepted my fate. What a dirty word, fate. I thought I understood that I couldn’t have a normal life. But all along, I’ve been foolin’ myself. I’ve been hopin’ for a better life, even when I know I can’t get one.

Army life might be fine for Cody, but it ain’t for me. I’ve had enough of gettin’ shot at to last a lifetime. And no matter what other kind of job I take, there’s always the specter of Wild Bill at my back. I can’t get away from him.

I’m successful at the poker tables, more successful that I ever dreamed. The money weighin’ down my pockets attests to that. But like I say, Wild Bill haunts me. Because when I play the tables, I’m Wild Bill. I don’t want to be. But the stories start flowin’ no matter what I do, gettin’ bigger and bigger with each retelling. And it always ends the same. I’m sick of it endin’ with the blood of a stranger spreadin’ out in front of me on a dusty street.

A part of me wants to just give up. No, not by lettin’ one of them strangers get the drop on me, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. There’s just a part of me that wants to go home. Give up pretendin’ that I can escape my destiny and return to Rock Creek. Visit with Teaspoon again, even if it means spendin’ some time in that blasted sweat lodge. Go huntin’ with Buck and get him to teach me that birdcall he always used to do. Have supper with Kid and Lou. Be with my family. Love ‘em like I always did.

Of course, I know I can’t do that. Sooner or later, another challenger with a chip on his shoulder would show up. And the same endin’ would play out again, this time on the streets of Rock Creek, maybe with my family watchin’. And how long would it take for one of them gunfighters to realize that they could get back at me a lot easier by killin’ off the people I love?

I guess most people want the same basic things out of life. Happiness. Love. A home. I had them things once, with the Express. It hurts more than you can believe to know I’m never goin’ to have them again.

I keep tellin’ myself that “Jimmy” is gone and ain’t comin’ back; that I’ve got to be “James” now. But who is “James” if not “Wild Bill”?

The sun peeks out from behind the clouds for a brief moment, bathin’ my face in warmth. The doors behind me swing open, and I turn to see one of the wranglers from the Triple R stumble out, clutchin’ his coat against the sudden chill. He’s all duded up tonight, in a black suit and starched white shirt that looks more fittin’ for a funeral than a night at the Purple Orchid. Why, he looks like…

I blink, open mouthed and stunned.

And suddenly the skies open up. The wrangler yelps as a crash of thunder booms, scarin’ him so much he almost flies face first into the mud. I laugh, and he shoots me a murderous look, but I just keep on laughin’.

It ain’t him I’m laughin’ at, needless to say. It’s me. I’m laughin’ at me, ‘cause I suddenly got it all figured out. I stand in the middle of that street, with the rain drenchin’ my clothes and seepin’ right through to my skin, and I laugh till I’m fit to burst. The wrangler’s gaze changes from hostility to outright bewilderment as he considers whether I’m truly as insane as I look, and that just makes me laugh even more.

There was one place where “James” didn’t equal “Wild Bill”, you see. A place where I had a home, if I wanted it. A place where I was happy. And I’m goin’ to go back. I never should have left in the first place.

With a much lighter step, I head back to the hotel. I’ve got plans to make. Grand plans, one might say.

 

Chapter Seven

I step into the hotel foyer and shake myself like a wild dog, enjoyin’ the feel of the water sloshin’ off my skin. For the first time in what seems like forever, I truly feel alive. Invigorated and refreshed, I approach the desk with a grin on my face.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hickok,” the clerk say briskly, glancin’ up at my approach before returning his attention to his newspaper.

“Afternoon,” I nod my head in greeting, then come to a stop at the counter. I cross my hands at my stomach and wait. And wait. And wait. It takes a good two minutes for the clerk to finally notice that I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Not that I blame him. I’ve been here in Roxborough for three weeks and I’ve never once stopped at the desk. Why would I? It ain’t like anybody’s goin’ to write me a letter. Nobody even knows I’m here.

“Uhhh…,” the clerk shuffles his paper aside, a look of astonishment on his face. He quickly schools his expression into its usual haughty arrogance. Apparently this is the best hotel in Roxborough, and the desk clerk has always had delusions of grandeur. I can practically see the visions of him behind the desk at the New York Hilton dancin’ in his head. “Can I help you with something, Mr. Hickok?”

“You can,” I answer in the same tone of voice. Heck, I can do “classy”. Unclasping my hands and leaning on the desk, I continue, “I’d like some writin’ paper, an inkwell and a stylus, please.”

The briefest flicker of surprise crosses his face before he replies with an exaggerated, “Of course, Mr. Hickok.” He pushed an inkwell and pen toward me before he dips behind the desk, comin’ up with a couple of sheets of hotel stationary.

I give the stationary a dubious glance. True, I only need to write two letters, but I ain’t exactly got my _own_ delusions of grandeur. It’s goin’ to take a heck of a lot more than three sheets of paper before I’m satisfied enough to send ‘em out.

I raise my eyes to the clerk. “Some more paper, please.”

“Of course, sir.”

I study the growing pile. “Hmmm… a few more.”

To the man’s credit, he does a good job of keepin’ his eyebrows firmly planted, even though I can tell they want to go crawlin’ up his forehead. Ten minutes later, I make my way upstairs to my room loaded down with half a ream of crisp hotel stationary.

Better safe than sorry.  
________________________________________

Crumplin’ up yet another wasted sheet of paper, I half-heartedly toss it in the general direction of the wastepaper basket. I don’t have to look to know that it misses the mark entirely, joinin’ a whole bunch of its fellows on the floor near the window. Frustrated, I hang my head in my hands. Whoever thought writin’ a couple of simple letters would be this difficult? Suddenly I have newfound respect for them speechwriters that Teaspoon used to quote around the dinner table. How did they ever come up with the perfect way of sayin’ stuff?

I raise my head, a gleam in my eye. Teaspoon didn’t just read us political speeches and mumbo-jumbo, though he always thought we’d learn something from that. He also used to quote a heck of a lot of the “official documents” he got. From Russell, Majors and Waddell… from the Army… heck, even from the politicians he used to know from his days at a Ranger. I got the style right in my head… if only I could remember it!

Determined, I pick up the pen and dip it into the ink.  
 _Dear Mr. Marcus_

 _We are sorry to let you know_  
Nah, I can do better than that. Another piece of paper bites the dust. I grab a fresh sheet and start again.  
 _Dear Mr. Marcus_

 _We regret to inform you that an act of violence has taken the life of Wild Bill Hickok. Though his_

His what? His WHAT? I chew on the end of the stylus for a moment, tryin’ to think. The first part is good. Teaspoon-worthy, I’d say. But geesh, what comes next? I lean back in the chair, tryin’ to picture Teaspoon standin’ at the head of the table in the bunkhouse. He’s got a letter in his hand, and he’s gesturin’ as he’s talks. He always waved his hands around when he was readin’ something official soundin’.

Well, the picture’s there, but it ain’t helpin’ none. But then… another picture takes it’s place. Cody, loungin’ in his bunk, writin’ another one of them stories for “True Tales of the West”. And next to Cody on the bunk…

I push back from the desk, grinnin’ again. I don’t even bother to lock my door before I head back down the lobby. I ain’t goin’ to be gone more than a minute or two anyway.

When I get back, I’m holdin’ the Holy Grail.

A dictionary.

I pick up the pen and start over, this time sure that I’ve got the supplies I need to make this the best soundin’ letter I can.  
 _Dear Mr. Marcus_

 _We regret to inform you that an act of violence has taken the life of Wild Bill Hickok. Though his exploits with a pistol were well known, it may comfort you to know that the legendary gunfighter did not pass on as the result of a gunfight. It appears that Mr. Hickok was involved in a heated game of poker when he was shot in an unprovoked attack._

 _It is our policy, when possible, to return those personal effects that are found on the deceased. Enclosed please find the contents of Mr. Hickok’s coat pockets, as well as his weapons._

 _We sympathize with your loss._

 _H. Layton  
Undertaker_

I read the letter over a couple of times, makin’ sure that there ain’t no spellin’ errors or nothin’, then sign it with a flourish. Folding it neatly, I place it on top of the pile of my “personal effects”. That’s the real belongings I had in my pockets. Got to make it look legitimate. I even threw in fifty dollars, though it hurts like heck to hand JD Marcus my hard-earned cash. The little card with the name and address of that fancy New York hotel he’s stayin’ at will go in the envelope with the letter. ‘Cause that’s how the “undertaker” knew where to send the belongings to, of course. See? I’m thinkin’.

I only hope that my instincts about JD Marcus are right on the money. No matter what he might say about leavin’ the writing business, I’m droppin’ a top dollar story in his lap. The letter and the personal effects might not be enough. But I’m thinkin’ that when he opens that package and my twin Colts tumble out, he’s practically goin’ to be salivatin’. There ain’t no way Wild Bill would part with his prized guns. At least I figure that’s what he’s goin’ to think. I imagine the story of my demise will be at the printers within a week. It better be. Everything is countin’ on it.

Feelin’ mighty pleased with myself, I roll up my sleeves and get ready to tackle letter number two.  
 _Dear Teaspoon and family,_

Now you’re probably wonderin’ why I ain’t writin’ a letter to Celinda as well. I spent quite a lot of time thinkin’ about doin’ just that on the walk back to the hotel. But it seems to me that she’d be better off not knowin’ all the details about my new life, and what I’m plannin’ to do. I know it’s goin’ to hurt her when the news come out that I’m “dead”. I just can’t see any way around it. Her knowin’ the truth is just too risky, for both of us.

I set the dictionary aside as I pick up the pen. There’s no need for fancy words now. I could make myself sound all hoighty-toighty, but my family knows the real me. I’m just goin’ to speak from my heart.  
 _Dear Teaspoon and family,_

 _It seems so long since I left Rock Creek and all of you. I’m sure you all know why I had to leave, no matter what I said at the time. It didn’t matter how much I was told that I could make my own destiny. I never really believed it. I couldn’t risk the people I love getting caught in the crossfire because of Wild Bill._

 _But I believe it now. I figured out how to make it work. I’m going to make my own destiny… I’m going to take the reins of my life._

 _When I left Rock Creek, I thought that “Jimmy Hickok” had to die. I couldn’t be that express rider no more. What I didn’t understand was that we ALL had to die. Jimmy, and James, and Wild Bill. I’ve got to be a brand new person._

 _I’m hoping that by the time you get this, JD Marcus’s new dime-novel will be on the shelves at Tompkins’ store. Only my family will know the truth. I’m starting a new life, and in order to do that, I have to become somebody else. Jimmy/James/Wild Bill… that person has to be dead and buried.  
I hope you understand why I can’t tell you where I am going or who I am going to become. Heck, I’m not even sure who I’ll become. Except that I know I’m going to be a good man. I know that sounds corny, but that’s all I want right now. To be a good man. I ain’t living by the gun no more._

 _Teaspoon… I would never have gotten to this point if it weren’t for you. I think back on the kind of man I was and it makes me shudder. All the good parts of me are there because you made them shine. Thank you for that, and know that I always love you._

 _Buck… I know I wasn’t always the best friend to you, at least in the beginning. It’s to your credit that you didn’t just kick me in the backside back then. I learned a lot just by watching the way you shuffled the cards life dealt you. Thanks for putting up with me, and for being there when I needed you._

 _Kid… What can I say to you, Kid? Saying we didn’t often see eye to eye seems like a pretty big understatement. But we’re family, and like Teaspoon always says, “family sticks together”. I hope you’re happy, Kid. Happier than a man has a right to be. You deserve it._

 _Lou… I never knew there was so many ways a woman could be a woman till I met you. And things always seemed a little brighter when you were around. Your love and respect helped me to keep “Jimmy” safe and “Wild Bill” at bay, at least for a while. Have a good life with Kid. Love him and keep him safe too._

 _I’m going to sign off here. Even though we’ll never see each other again, I’ll be thinking of all of you often. You are my family, and I love you._

 _Ride safe,  
Jimmy_

I tip my chair back, staring at the wall. I ain’t ashamed to say that I’m a little misty eyed. Never figured I’d get so emotional sayin’ good-bye.

My saddlebags are propped up against the dresser, and the final item I need is inside. It’s about all I can manage to force myself to walk the three or four paces, bend, and undo the straps.

I stare at the drawing for a long moment, lost in memories again. Ike had so much talent. We almost look like we’re ready to leap off the page. But we look so young. So naïve. I don’t have that look in my eyes anymore. I wish I did.

My thumb caresses the pencil marks lightly as I walk back to the desk. Givin’ up the drawing is almost the hardest thing of all. I know I’ve got to leave all the links to my past behind… but it hurts. I’ve just got to remember that I can carry all of ‘em with me in my heart. That will have to be enough.

Carefully, I insert Ike’s pencil sketch into the envelope before I seal it.

I’ll check out of the hotel in the mornin’. By noon of the next day, I should be embarkin’ on my new life.

 

Chapter Eight

I guess I’ve gotten more cynical than I thought. It’s kind of shockin’ to discover that the promises people made in the past have actually been kept. Because James Creek has changed, and unlike Emma’s place, it’s changed for the better.

The town itself is bustlin’ with business. I recognize at least a dozen new stores and shops linin’ the main street, and several more on side streets that didn’t even exist last time I was here. Another thing I wasn’t expectin’ - everybody seems to be gettin’ along just fine. One thing a person learns about boomtowns - they get filled up mighty quick, and not with an element that decent folk are happy to see. But everybody in this particular town is smilin’ and actin’ friendly. I guess James Creek is the exception to the rule. Despite the population tripling in six months, James Creek still has only one saloon.

I ain’t stoppin’ there, of course. A cold sarsaparilla is awfully temptin’, but I don’t want to risk bein’ recognized just yet. Instead I stand at the far end of town, a grin quirkin’ into place as I watch the people strollin’ down the boardwalk. For every dusty cowboy, there’s two or three men in plain black suits and wide brimmed hats. Much like that wrangler in the fancy suit I saw back in Roxborough, ‘cept these folks look much more comfortable in their choice of outerwear. That’s understandable. The Peacemakers got a heck of a lot more class.

I should be ridin’ out to the homestead. I know that. Truth be told, now that I’m here, I’m gettin’ kind of antsy about the whole idea. Seems to me that I put together the whole proposition on a wing and a prayer, and I ain’t never been big on prayin’. What if the Peacemakers don’t want me? I can suddenly imagine myself limpin’ back to Rock Creek, tail between my legs. Holy smokes, what if I had to live with Kid and Lou? My pride couldn’t take it.

I shake my head. What am I thinkin’? That ain’t goin’ to happen. Leastways, I’m never goin’ to find out one way or the other by lollygatherin’ in town with my mouth hangin’ open. Swingin’ easily onto the back of my chestnut mare, I spur her in the direction of the Peacemakers land.  
________________________________________

It’s more beautiful than I remember it. Bigger, too.

I expected the bigger part. Alice had said that a hundred more of her people would be makin’ the exodus to the Nebraska Territory. Jacob, Alice and the others were only the first vanguard, as it were. Yet I really didn’t reckon on just what a difference an extra hundred people could make.

They’re everywhere! Figures in dark clothing dot the landscape, all of them movin’ with a sense of purpose. The vegetable patch has grown to a full blown field, crops swayin’ gently in the afternoon breeze. Here and there, white capped heads can be seen bobbin’ amongst the leaves as the women move amongst the vines, pickin’ fruit or weeds as the case may be. The men are more involved in the back breakin’ labour. As I watch, a group of burly Peacemakers struggle to get their plow over a particularly ornery piece of ground. I don’t got to be up close to know that the sweat’s pourin’ off them, that their muscles are strainin’ with effort… or that their willpower is all that’s keepin’ the curses inside. Learnin’ to do that is goin’ to be one of my toughest lessons.

If they let me stay.

The church is built, of course. It dominates the scenery, shinin’ like silver in the sun. The large wooden cross at its apex seems to call to me, askin’ me to go inside and sit a spell. The churches in Sweetwater and Rock Creek never pulled at me like that. Maybe it’s got somethin’ to do with the atmosphere here. All these people, all of ‘em devout, all of ‘em workin’ together to make a decent life for themselves. All of ‘em strivin’ to… well, to be good. It’s what I want. Heck, it’s what I need.

So yeah, I expected it to be bigger. The beautiful part? Seems like I’d forgotten about that. See, when you spend a lot of your time on the plains, you can tend to take it for granted. The desert is the desert, and you don’t pay it no mind, except to make sure that you’ve got water in your canteen. But now I’m lookin’ at it with a new set of eyes.

The endless sky is a blue deeper than a robin’s egg, seemin’ to float above me like a mighty river. The clouds sail that river, bouncin’ on the waves, while the tan-coloured earth simmers below, heat cascadin’ from jagged rocks and fissures in the ground. The mountains stand tall and proud, watchin’ over it all with the stern countenances of judge and jury. Lookin’ at this wild and stark beauty, I can suddenly see God’s hand here. Nothin’ so awe-inspiring could be accidental.

“May we help you, outsider?”

The voice is reasonably pleasant, with just enough of an edge to let me know that the speaker is anxious about my sudden appearance in their not-so-little enclave. My mouth is dry as I turn, tuggin’ unconsciously at the collar of my ill-fittin’ suit.

I admit it, I’m missin’ my comfortable linen shirt and jacket, all nicely worn in after wearin’ ‘em almost day and night for over a year! But those were Jimmy’s clothes… Wild Bill’s clothes. I burned ‘em after I got this suit.

I tried to get somethin’ in black, but the mercantile didn’t have much of a selection. And I didn’t want to make no fuss, or give the storekeeper a reason to remember me. So the suit I endin’ up buyin’ is light brown, and easily a size too small. The trousers end a good inch or two higher than they should, and the collar and cuffs are far too tight. I feel like I’m chokin’ in the danged thing. All right, maybe some of that is nervousness. Yeah, just some. I ain’t entirely chicken, no matter what Cody might think.

I realize I’ve been standin’ there, gawkin’ at the speaker for a good ten seconds without sayin’ a blasted word. For his part, he’s regardin’ me with a look that’s two parts curiousity and one part trepidation. He tips his hat back on his head just a little as I finally clear my throat, but whatever I was goin’ to say is interrupted by another newcomer to the scene.

“Aah, but this is not an outsider, Thomas. This is James. He is frenka.”

Frenka. Friend. I grin and hold out my hand. “Jacob.”

Jacob takes the hand, his grip cool and firm, the callouses of hard labour clearly evident. He looks younger than I remember him. That makes sense to me. He’s still the leader of the Peacemakers, and he’s still got the responsibility for the well being of the community. But now his people are here, with him, and I’m sure he’s good at… what did Teaspoon call it? Delegation. Yeah, I can see Jacob delegatin’ the heck out of this place.

Besides, he don’t have Estes printin’ lies and callin’ the Peacemakers devil worshippers and such anymore. From what I saw of the town, everybody was gettin’ on real good-natured, just like they promised. So Jacob’s face is still worn by time, but his eyes sparkle with a light I never saw in them before. Of course, that might be ‘cause he didn’t always approve of me sparkin’ Alice.

I push thoughts of Alice aside as Jacob released my hand and turns his attention elsewhere.

“Thomas, please inform Mary that we will have a guest for the evening meal.”

As Thomas hurries toward the cluster of white-washed buildings in the distance, Jacob leads me to the base of a slender tree. The sapling has taken a strong hold in the earth, its leaves already offerin’ a canopy of shade against the blisterin’ sun. The well-worn boulders at the foot of the tree confirm that this is a popular spot. I can imagine Jacob bringin’ the kids out here for a little “talk” if they’ve been misbehavin’. And I can just as easily imagine a young couple sneakin’ out to sit on these boulders and watch the stars. Bundling’s all well and good, but sometimes a man and his girl need to touch. Just hold hands and look up at the sky and know that no matter how big and complicated everythin’ looks, they’ve got each other.

“What brings you back to the Peacemakers, James?”

“Well, first off, I came to bring you this.” My hand dips into the vest pocket of my suit, withdrawin’ a crisp white envelope.

Jacob glances at me questioningly as he takes it from my hands and peeks inside. His eyes widen, then narrow suspiciously. “There must be…” he flits nimble fingers through the envelope, “several thousand dollars here, James. Where did you get it?”

My chin comes up. I want to say that I ain’t offended by the question, but I am. I’ve never committed a dishonest act in my life, and I surely ain’t a thief. I thought Jacob knew that about me.

“I earned it,” I say, tryin’ to keep my voice even. “I left the pony express and I’ve been-”

Jacob waves a hand, cuttin’ me off. “If you say you earned it, I will believe you, James. You owe me no explanation.”

I let out a breath, easin’ down from the irritation that was buildin’ inside. He believes me, and aside from Teaspoon and the riders, I don’t think anybody’s ever taken me at my word before. It’s a feelin’ I could get used to.

“No, Jacob, you should know,” I say, kind of surprised to hear the words poppin’ out of my mouth. I certainly never planned to tell Jacob - or anybody else, for that matter - how I was spendin’ my time since leavin’ Rock Creek. But before I know it, the whole story is tumblin’ out. The nonstop search for decent work, the way I finally settled on workin’ the poker tables as a way to earn my livin’, and mostly the mind-numbin’ panic that wormed its way into my gut once I realized that I was never goin’ to be free of Wild Bill. The terror that a gunslinger was all I was, and all I would ever be.

He listened to it all patiently, never once interruptin’. But the thing that I’m most grateful for is that he didn’t judge me. Not at all. He just let me spill my guts and when I was done, he laid his hand on top of mine.

Did I say his hand was calloused from hard work? I guess it was, but at the moment it seemed like the softest thing I’d ever felt. Gentle, and understandin’, and for a moment it felt like I was back in the old marshal’s office with Teaspoon.

“And now you have returned to us. The money will be well used here. We have need of much in this new life we make for ourselves. Books for the school; seeds for the crops. Hymnals for the church you helped to provide. I thank you for your generosity.

“But to bring us this gift is not the only reason you have come. Why are you here, James?”

“I want to stay,” I blurt out.

“Indeed,” Jacob says gravely. “You had professed such a wish before.”

I’m shakin’ my head before he’s even got the words out. “I was different before. I wasn’t ready.” The words sound sad and pathetic even to me. I can only look into his face and hope he understands what I’m tryin’ to say.

“Everybody’s got this idea of who I am. And it don’t matter that I ain’t that person. If I keep doin’ what I’m doin’, I’m goin’ to become that person, don’t you see? I don’t want to live by the gun no more. I don’t want to hurt people. I don’t want to hurt.” I run my hand through my hair desperately, knockin’ my ugly new brown hat to the ground. “I need this place, Jacob. I need-”

“You’ve given up your guns.”

I glance to my hip, where Jacob’s gaze has wandered, then back to his stern eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“Are you ready to become one in our faith, to abide by our laws, to live by our teachings?”

I gulp, rememberin’ the scene by the stream when Alice was about to take her place in the church. Rememberin’ the attack by Marcus Scruggs and his gang of hooligans. Rememberin’ the fear on Alice’s face.

Honesty is the best policy. “I ain’t ready to be baptized.”

Jacob nods. “I admire your candor, James. What about the rest?”

“Yes, sir. I want to learn your teachings. I want to live here, Jacob.” I take a deep breath, let it out. “I want to be a good man.”

Jacob rises, and I rise with him. I imagine there’s a look of confusion on my face, because I sure as heck don’t know what he’s thinkin’. He gazes out over the fields, the workin’ men and women, the church beckonin’ in the distance. Then he looks back to me, and smiles.

“You are a good man, James. Now, don’t you think you should go see Alice?”  
________________________________________

The schoolhouse is set close by the church, it’s wooden walls still untouched by paint or whitewash. The scent of sawdust still hangs in the air as I make my way to the open doorway, my heart thuddin’ faster than a runaway stallion. I rest my hand against the doorjamb, peekin’ inside. Oh, I tell myself that it’s because I need to let my eyes adjust to the dimmer light in the building. But deep inside, I know the real reason. If the rampagin’ heartbeat didn’t give it away, then the knockin’ knees surely would. I’ve never been this edgy in my life. Facin’ down a quartet of ornery outlaws whacked out on loco weed would be easier than this!

Takin’ a deep breath, I study my dusty boots and try to reason with myself. It ain’t like Alice has no idea of my feelings for her. Heck, she felt the same way as I did. And so some time has gone by. That’s all right. It’s not like feelings just disappear once you have ‘em. They stick around for a long time. Sometimes for too long. But they don’t just die… not if they’re real.

I know my feelings for Alice were real. ARE real. When I left James Creek, I tried to pocket ‘em away, believin’ that a good woman like Alice and a good group of people like the Peacemakers had no place in my life. If I hadn’t had my “revelation”, I’d still be thinkin’ just that. And the love I feel for Alice would still be hidin’ away inside, like a miser’s precious jewel. Sure, I’d take it out on special occasions and shine it up, but nobody else would ever see it. Nobody else would even suspect it was there.

Now I’ve got the chance to set things right, and my danged legs are shakin’ so bad that I can’t even walk into the blasted school.

“James?”

My head whips up, shock on my features. Yeah, I knew she was in the school. That’s why I walked over to the schoolhouse, after all. But heck, I was supposed to have time to get my thoughts in order before she just up and startin’ talkin’ to me! You’d think I’d have had this little scene all practiced out in my head, wouldn’t you? After all, I had almost a week in between settin’ things in motion for Wild Bill’s “death” and makin’ my way to James Creek. But I tell ya, there was always some reason to exclude this exact moment in my plans. I ain’t yellow, but… oh, okay, when it comes to Alice, I’m yellow. A man knows when to acknowledge his soft spot. I just really don’t want to mess this up.

She takes a couple of steps closer, letting her hand drift along the top of a dark wooden desk. “It is you,” she says softly.

Her voice is like the chime of rich, pure bells on Christmas Eve. I hear it, and my mind turns to thoughts of warmth. Nestlin’ on the comforter of that big bed in the bundling room, tellin’ each other about our lives. The comfort of knowin’ that I could tell her just about anythin’, and she’d still like me. The security in knowin’ that she wasn’t about to toss me aside because of anythin’ from my past. But mostly, her enchanting voice makes me think of love. Can’t forget love. It’s almost like I’d forgotten how sweet her voice was, how beautiful the timbre. Yet as soon as I hear it, somethin’ inside me recognizes it. Somethin’ in my soul cries out that it belongs to me. It belongs with me.

I ought to be sayin’ something, but I just stand there gapin’ as she makes her way along to the doorway, her eyes never leavin’ my face even as her hands continue to gather up wayward schoolbooks from the desks. She’s only steps away when I finally close my mouth and realize I probably look like a hayseed hick. Great way to make a good impression.

I take a quick step forward, findin’ my manners at last. I reach out to take the books from her arms, my fingers brushin’ along her hand, and the spark that was always there for us flares and burns. Lookin’ into her eyes, I know she feels it too.

“It’s me,” I finally say. As an openin’ line goes, it stinks. But I’m flailin’ here. There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t want to just be blurtin’ out everythin’ I’m feelin’. I’ll send the poor girl runnin’ for the hills.

She lets me take the books, thank goodness, points to the cupboard where they belong, then leads the way back outside to the blindin’ sunlight.

“You’ve changed.”

She means the clothes, of course. But this is my chance. The heck with leadin’ into things slowly. I’m takin’ the bull by the horns and runnin’ with it.

I glance down at my ridiculous outfit with a smile. “In more ways than one.” She nods, takin’ a few steps toward the main house, and my smile falters. Her long black skirts stir up dust as I stand there, once again slack-jawed. What the heck is wrong with me?

Comin’ to my senses, I rush forward, touchin’ her arm, callin’ her name. She stops and turns, and it’s only then that I see the hope in them. Is it hope? I believe it is.

“James?”

I push the nervousness aside. “It ain’t just the clothes that are different, Alice. I’m different. I’m not the man I was. But more than that, I don’t want to be the man I was.”

“I see that your guns are gone.”

Non-judgmental, just like Jacob. A statement of fact, not praise… and not condemnation either, had the guns still been in their places at my hips.

I soldier on. “I talked with Jacob. I told him… I told him that I want to stay.”

I expect some kind of surprise in her eyes, but there’s just calm acceptance. Guess she knew what I was plannin’ before I did.

“Jacob says I can stay,” I continue, knowin’ that I’m talkin’ way too fast but unable to stop it. “I want to learn to be like you. I want…”

I falter suddenly. Oh, I know what I want. For the first time in my life, I know exactly what I want. But I just didn’t think things through, did I? All fired up with my great plans and my big expectations and my new life. Me, me, me. I expected the place to change, but the people?

Alice is a beautiful woman, a strong woman, a decisive woman. How could I believe that she’d still be unspoken for?

She brushes at a wisp of hair that’s broken free from the confines of the cap. The movement is graceful, delicate and utterly feminine, and I feel my knees goin’ weak again.

“What do you want, James?” she asks gently.

Bull. Horns. Ain’t I supposed to be runnin’ with it, or somethin’?

I move forward, closin’ the distance between us, and run a finger gently along her cheek. “I want you.”

She turns her face into my hand, nuzzlin’ into my palm, and all my fears melt away on the breeze. But her eyes are serious as she gazes up at me. “Are you sure? This time, are you truly ready?”

I focused on my own hurt for so long, my need. I never really understood how my leavin’ last time must have saddened Alice. Lookin’ into her eyes, I make a promise to myself right then and there. I’ll never hurt her again.

“I’m sure,” I whisper. I want to shout it to the heavens, but all I can manage is a raspy croak. There’s too many emotions cloggin’ up my throat, tryin’ to spill out. “I’m sure.”

She smiles, and the force of it puts the midday brightness to shame.

Good-bye, Jimmy Hickok. Good-bye, Wild Bill.

I’ve found my place in the sun.

THE END


End file.
